Different
by SiofraPrince
Summary: The words were automatic by now. Every time somehow asked how he discovered things, explained them, understood them on a level that no one else could, those words would fall from his lips- "My brain works differently than yours."


**Oh heeeeey. You know what this is? NOT a new chapter for My Thoughts be Bloody. No, it's a "Victoria re-watched Ghost Hunt and picked up one line in the first episode and banged out 4000 words instead of studying".**

**But…both of us miss the GH fandom so…**

**.**

**WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!**

**.**

**This is important. Please. Don't read if any of the following could apply to you.**

**.**

**This fic contains triggers. Mentions of suicide, attempted suicide, disregard of minors and angst. Parental death. Self-destructive behaviour. Unhealthy coping of grief (or lack thereof).**

**.**

**On that note, enjoy!**

.

* * *

.

"My brain works differently than yours."

The words were automatic by now. Every time somehow asked how he discovered things, explained them, understood them on a level that no one else could, those words would fall from his lips. It sounded arrogant, as though all others were stupid and incapable of comprehending such _basics_, but he didn't mean them that way. It was ingrained in his psyche, since the very start.

.

But to understand, we need to go back to the beginning.

.

Before he was Naru, before he was Oliver, he was Edward. Edward, Andrew and Emily Daniels. Children of Naruko and Hikaru, immigrants to America.

.

When he was four, he shattered the glass his father was holding. His father didn't seem surprised at the time, but his mother had screamed at the sight of blood, his baby sister bursting into tears, and Gene had clutched his hand, frightened. Tou-chan had simply dropped the remains in the bin, and swept up the rest, before he took to Edward aside, face and voice solemn, and told Edward to be careful. He spoke of his own golden light, the iron control he maintained over it, and how difficult it could be. He taught Edward how to contain the light within his own body, so that it didn't hurt the others around him (his lessons were far from complete, even when he was an adult).

.

When the police came and told him that his father and sister had died, killed in a car accident, all the windows in their apartment block broke.

.

His mother didn't understand. She tried, tried so hard to be there for him and Andrew, but the loss of her husband and daughter broke her. She was stuck in a land that paid her next to nothing for long hours of work, where there was a significant language barrier despite years of lessons, and she was looked down for being a solo mother, foreign and not fitting in with the country's ideals. It was stressful. Edward and Andrew tried to make it easier for her; doing basic chores, keeping their rooms clean, sometimes cooking simple food so that their Kaa-chan didn't have to when she got home after a long shift.

It was when their neighbour, the elderly Mrs Lopez, had picked them up from school, tears in her eyes, that Edward knew something was wrong. Andrew had frowned, and, looking at the air next to Mrs Lopez, had asked Kaa-chan why she had red all over her arms.

.

They went into state care a week later.

.

* * *

.

When he was ten (not Edward now, but Oliver), and living with Dr Davis-call-me-Martin and Dr Luella Davis-call-me-what-you-want in England (not America, not next door to Mrs Lopez and Professor Mosley who taught chemistry and gave Edward-Oliver lessons in anything), he was pulled into psychic testing the first time he made the furniture float. A friend of Dr Davis', a neurosurgeon called Dr Tankersly, had measured his brainwaves to see if there was a correlation between the furniture floating, his emotions, and the golden glow that his skin emitted. After they had finished, and Dr Tankersly had recorded the results, he was taken aside by Martin and Tankersly, Gene (not Andrew anymore, but _Eugene)_ and Luella shooed off to get ice-cream.

He was not dying. Good.

His brain, however, was wired differently. Some of the quieter areas in other people's brains were fully active in his. It was not a condition, it wouldn't affect his daily life unless he used it excessively, but he should perhaps look into some form of meditation to control his powers. They were too big for his body at the moment, and could be fatal. They would have to keep an eye on it. Martin was already running through a list of his current students (that had admitted to having psychic abilities of some kind) that would be able to help, but all Edward-Oliver-Noll could think of was that it was yet another thing that set him apart from everyone else.

.

.

"My brain works differently than yours."

The first time he'd said it to an adult, they had smiled condescendingly and told him 'of course, you are very special'. It made him want to puke. There was the medium (who was worse than Gene), the clairvoyant who couldn't read him and got mad and yelled at him, the second medium who creeped him out so much he shattered a window in the observation room, the seer who was so shy they could barely get two words out, then the PK-LT user who killed rats in front of him to try and get a reaction out of him. They all gave him the same fake smile, the same reply, and he hated it.

Then there was the Chinese student, who was not actually from China, but from Japan. He asked very few questions, but whatever answers Oliver would give him he seemed to take seriously. When Oliver haltingly admitted that his hands always burned after the furniture would float, that wavy lines would consume his vision after he touched an object and saw things and sometimes he would faint after either event, the Chinese student frowned, before pulling out an ancient and tattered book written in Chinese, and flipping through it, stopping on a page somewhere near the back.

"We will begin with meditation. Then we will move on to exercises." He stated crisply.

Oliver liked him already.

.

.

He hated the pink-haired woman for all of ten seconds before she insulted him in Japanese and corrected his pronunciation on _so many words._

"That's not how you speak Japanese, Oliver." She'd called him an idiot, and then every second afternoon was spent with Gene and Madoka Mori refining their Japanese. While it was their mother-tongue, and he and Gene had grown up speaking most of it, he didn't know many of the higher-level words. He was a fast learner (always had been), and when Oliver told her about his brain, she shrugged it off.

"I don't care, Oliver. Having a mind that works differently won't excuse you from lessons."

At the other end of the table, Lin (_Lin will do, nothing else_) snorted and jotted something down in a black notebook, characters filling the page in a neat and precise way. He liked Madoka. She was strict and firm, and helped him negotiate social situations where he used to flounder, and kept Gene occupied when he needed quiet.

Even if she embarrassed him in front of Martin and Luella constantly.

.

.

"My brain works differently than yours."

It had been Lin who introduced him to Eric Holtzmann, a German student who had a talent with misdirection and some form of psychometry. Lin explained that he could help him with his PK-ST (as Martin had diagnosed), since it was similar to his own '_magic-powers'_, but Lin did not know where to start with the psychometry aspect. There were only so many times he could meditate before he lost patience. Eric was friendly and cheerful; a pleasant foil to Lin's taciturn demeanour.

He taught Oliver how to deliberately use his gift, how to stop himself from reading everything that he touched, how to sort through the visions and find what was important. He taught him German, and a smattering of French, some Dutch, how to read music, how to play notes on the piano. Eric didn't mind when Oliver babbled on about the newest theory in parapsychology, or the newest discoveries when it came to paranormal phenomena or when Gene was being particularly difficult that day, he would just listen and offer commentary when needed. Martin liked Eric as well, since Eric could debate endlessly on some topics that currently went over Oliver's head. And when Oliver had told him the dreaded six words during a lesson, Eric had smiled at him.

"So does mine. It would be boring if we all thought the same."

.

.

When Gene died, when Oliver found out after picking up a shirt, he broke every window on the second floor.

Lin bought the tickets.

Eric drove them to the airport.

Madoka, back in Japan for a holiday, picked them up.

Oliver still hadn't cried.

.

* * *

.

He had been in Japan for almost four months, and he hadn't found Gene's body.

He was frustrated. He was mad.

"It's amazing that you can use all of this stuff."

And there were times when he _deplored_ working with his new assistant (it wasn't that she reminded him of Gene). Especially when she was so _stupid_. Who didn't know what thermography was? And when she had expressed that he must be smart in order to use the equipment (as if Lin and Madoka hadn't drilled it into his head how to operate it), he rolled his eyes.

"My brain works differently than yours."

There had been a startled sort of splutter, and then mutterings that he ignored (even if it was hilarious), but then…

"Naru-chan the Narcissist!"

_That._

She had to go give him a nickname (he missed the simplicity of 'Ed') that sounded exactly like the one Gene had given him when they had been told their new names (they hadn't picked. Oliver wished they had). And in front of other people as well (the insufferable monk _still_ called him Naru-chan, he was not _cute_), he was never going to live it down. Especially once Lin started to use it at the office (_Kazuya is a stupid name,_ Lin had deadpanned, _Naru sounds better_). Then Mai had to go be insufferable and use it.

On.

Every.

Single.

Case.

His brain worked differently, yes, but sometimes he wondered _how_ differently it worked to everyone else's.

.

* * *

.

It had been one of the first cases without Lin. One of the few without Mai.

That made it difficult. Oliver hadn't realized how often Lin had translated what was termed 'Naru-speak', how many times Mai had understood on a level deeper than most and was able to explain for the others. No, instead he was with Takigawa, Yasu and John. Intellectually, they made a good team. Takigawa and John were competent and strong exorcists, Yasuhara had a good handle on the research required for investigations, and Oliver would be manning the equipment and leading.

Takigawa didn't resent him for being younger, smarter or better looking. That was good.

Apparently, what he _did_ dislike was something that Oliver didn't understand; his recklessness. Because, apparently, facing down a spirit with nothing but erratic PK, five minutes away from base (in a job when encounters were _seconds_), no back-up and no way to contact the others was _reckless._ Throwing himself down the stairs to avoid a cut from an intangible weapon (that had sliced through a couch like it was paper) was considered rash and careless. Oliver didn't understand, that much was clear. It was his body, and he hadn't been seriously injured as of yet. It wasn't as if he was throwing _Yasuhara_ down the stairs, no matter how tempting it may have been (he'd considered it more than once).

That was this case. During the lecture, Takigawa brought up all the _other_ instances that Oliver had disregarded his own safety; covering Mai with his own body when the ceiling fell during the case at Kasai's school, falling down the manhole and using his PK, using his PK against the _okobu_, having a stare-off with a spirit trying to kill him, deliberately drawing a spirits attention to himself on numerous occasions, rushing off to find Mai in the Urado case…the list was far longer than Oliver realized.

And when Takigawa had finally finished ranting at him (John and Yasu having long since escaped base), Oliver was still confused. He _didn't understand_. So when he was asked if he had anything to say, Oliver defaulted.

"My brain works differently than yours."

And that was definitely the wrong thing to say. Takigawa wasn't condescending, or confused.

_He was mad._

And that was more dangerous than a loud Takigawa. Because Takigawa had the quiet sort of anger; one that seethed and cut and froze and snapped. It was vicious.

It was exactly like his own temper.

"_Oliver Davis._" Oh. _Shit._ Takigawa articulated his name, smiling ominously, English perfect. "_We are going to have a little chat."_

It was one of the few times Oliver had truly known fear.

He never said those words to Takigawa again.

.

.

The building was going to come down on top of them.

The rest were out, but he'd gone to look for John, and found him trapped under rubble, trying not to scream and crying in pain. It took just a flex of his wrist and of his mind, and the rubble had lifted itself enough for John to get out (he'd been practising with books, but same principle). When he'd released it however, the building shook ominously, and John, despite his arm definitely being broken, hauled him down the remaining stairs and into a small classroom, shoving him under the teachers desk and crawling after him. The floor shifted, and Oliver found himself curling further under the desk, one foot hooking John's and pulling it in, just as the ceiling dropped around them, thudding against the desk, causing the legs to creak and covering them with plaster dust. There was a sharp pain, and Oliver knew that, judging by the low throb in his foot, something had fallen on it.

"Why?" John had wheezed after the dust settled. "Why did you come back?"

Oliver frowned. He couldn't put it into words; the need to get John, the urge to run back inside even though he knew that the ceiling would collapse, the sudden feeling of dread and _knowing_ that if he didn't go back inside, the next time he picked up something that belonged to the priest, it would be tinted green, and that he wouldn't be able to handle it (he wondered just when John had become one of his precious people).

"My brain works differently than yours." Oliver finally managed to get out, over the roaring and screaming in his head (and his ankle, the fire in his leg racing through his bloodstream). He cringed a little, expecting the usual derisive snort, the condescending attitude or the look of complete incomprehension. He managed to meet John's eyes, and he froze, because in John's eyes there was _understanding_.

John, blood trickling down a cut on his face, both of them dusty and tired and sore, spoke of the human experiments that his own father had performed on him. How his brain had shifted and changed, burned and cracked and reformed with an angel sharing his consciousness. How he, a decidedly average student, had suddenly been able to comprehend things like advanced astrophysics, philosophy, mathematics and the _languages_. He told Oliver about the days his head would simply _spin_ with all the information swirling around it, when the barriers between his mind and the angel's would blur and warp, and he was never sure if he was speaking English, Japanese or Hebrew or an extinct language, or if it was _heavenly_.

He spoke of the migraines, the blurry visions, the _future_ visions that he'd sometimes get that were out of context (_God's plan,_ John had smiled ruefully, but his eyes seemed to be ancient, older than the world), and the times his hearing would just _vanish_, and his ears would ring, or when his vision would flicker (_he likes to see the world from my eyes, sometimes,_ John huffed. _He says that you're very pretty to look at. Your PK, especially)_. He spoke of the sense of wonder that would sweep over him, emotions that weren't his own, at even the simplest things; the leaves changing colours, a cat strolling along a wall, the way the sky burned as the sun set.

And Oliver knew, then, that John understood.

Because his mind worked differently as well.

.

.

He didn't want to admit it, but Yasuhara (excluding Lin and John and perhaps Matsuzaki) was near, if not on, the same intellectual level that he was. They just…had different interests. Case in point- a vicar who knew John had asked them to investigate the sudden rash of murders and subsequent poltergeists that had occurred. There was no set pattern, it would happen any time; a child found dead after a service, windows shattering late at night and entire rooms of furniture being moved in the small hours of the morning. They had hit a block halfway through, and Oliver just couldn't figure out the motive behind it all.

So, he was impressed, and annoyed, when Yasuhara burst into the base, and blurted out that he knew who the murderer was. Oliver drew a blank, and it must have shown on his face, because Yasuhara stared at him, incredulous.

"Honestly, Boss, how could you not notice it?" Yasuhara sounded confused. "It was obvious."

Oliver gave him a look, not bothering to hide his irritation.

"My brain works differently than yours."

"Um, Yasu?" Monk waved his hand. "Explain to the rest of the class? How did you know that it was the curator that killed the children?"

As Yasu explained to the rest of the team, headless of the incredulous looks he was getting as he described the man's bank account, medical history, clothing choices (the gloves were apparently important) and the fact that he shied away from touching things in a way that would leave fingerprints, neatly indicating to Yasuhara that he was the murderer (confirmed by Masako speaking to the spirit and confirming that he was the child's killer), Oliver came to a sudden realization. Yasuhara _noticed_ things. Little, small details that others overlooked; micro-expressions, twitches, clothing choice and how it all accumulated into small stories that could tell you enough about a person if you bothered to _look._

His brain wasn't the only one that worked differently.

.

.

Contrary to popular belief, his 'dates' with Masako weren't entirely loathed. While initially, she had used him as what Lin dubbed 'arm-candy' (he thought it was the correct translation, Lin had used a rather obscure phrase than had made Madoka hit him), a few 'dates' in, Oliver noticed something; Masako was alone. She was _lonely._ He knew about her parents, just as she knew about his adoptive ones (it was hard, in an industry as competitive as theirs _not_ to know), and although she had originally used her knowledge of his actual identity to coerce him into these outings, Oliver was able to recognise it for what it truly was. She was desperate for company that didn't involve requests for long-lost loved ones, pandering to her parent's reputation, trying to garner her parent's attention or flirting.

Much like Oliver, she had been manipulated to get the attention of others. So, in order to get the attention of someone, she fell back on what others did, and succeeded with; blackmail, extortion, bribes. She didn't know how to make friends, because she'd never really had any real ones.

Then she confessed. She liked him. More than a friend.

His brain short-circuited for a few, precious moments. It was long enough for her to take a step back, her hand covering her mouth as her eyes started to water.

"I'm sorry, I'll just…"

"Masako-chan." He added the suffix to grab her attention (it did the job). If anything, she looked like she was going to cry even more.

"I knew that it was just a dream, a fantasy, because you've been so patient and kind but…"

"My brain works differently than yours." He had replied, feeling oddly…gentle. Patient. He was going soft. Masako had looked at him, confused (he hated that look), before she had smiled at him, nodding as if something had been cleared up for her.

"I understand." Then, to his surprise, she hooked his arm through his. "Since you're my only male friend, however, I expect you to continue to escort me."

Once the misconceptions were cleared away, she proved to have a sharp mind to match her equally sharp tongue, and was well up to date on the gossip on the paranormal and psychic research circles in Japan (something which helped immensely later on). Oliver, in turn, was more than happy (ish) to glare at those who would try to approach Masako on the street. When asked if he was her boyfriend, he would smirk (and this seemed to terrify them more).

"Her friend."

.

.

A small case. At Matsuzaki's hospital. Himself, Matsuzaki and Lin. They had been fine. Lin had narrowed down the culprits behind the sudden influx of attempted suicides within the hospital, and Matsuzaki was ready to exorcise (she kept a small army of bonsai trees in her office. It was both amusing and terrifying).

And then he'd been possessed, and taken up to the roof. It was a long way down. He contemplated the drop.

It was tempting, regardless of what the spirit was whispering in his mind. It always had been. Of his own volition, he took a step forward, closer to the edge.

Then there were arms around his waist, dragging him back, red hair in his face and a pale hand slapping him across the cheek. It stung. Hazel eyes peered into his, scanning over his body as if checking for injuries. There was a hand on his arm. The mails dug into the muscle.

"Thank the Goddess I found you in time!" Matsuzaki looked shaken. "The spirit almost took you over the edge!"

"It wasn't." Oliver managed to get out, too shaken to care at the reaction his words would garner.

"What?"

"The last step. It wasn't the spirit." Oliver willed her to understand (_please,_ the little boy begged, _I'm telling the truth_). He could see it, the moment his words registered to her, the moment she kicked into what he later termed 'doctor-mode'. It started with her pulling him off the roof and into a spare ward, shutting the door behind her, and pushing him towards a seat, hands reaching for medical instruments.

"Are you feeling dizzy, have you eaten anything strange, been injected…"

"Matsuzaki-sensei." He interrupted, pushing her hand away from his forehead, and she froze at the honorific (because how many times had she chided him for being disrespectful?), before a sort of….horrified realization crossed her face.

"Naru…you…" He looked away, not wanting to see the pity.

"My brain works differently than yours." _The next step seemed logical. I wanted to. It was tempting._

_It hurts._

_I wanted it to end._

A rustle of clothing, the clink of instruments being set down.

"Don't you have anyone you can talk to about this?" Ayako placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, and Oliver resisted the urge to flinch, even as he snorted, eyes still fixed on the floor.

"Lin has his own problems. Madoka wouldn't understand. Gene is..."

_Gene is dead._

He hadn't realized that he was crying (when was the last time he cried?) until Matsuzaki pulled him into a hug (when was the last time anyone except Luella had given him a hug? Mai didn't count), hadn't realized that he _wasn't coping_. He missed the constant warmth at his side, the sly looks, the goddamn _awful_ violin practise at 3am when Gene couldn't sleep, the surprise hugs, the little touches, the kisses to his cheek before they went to bed (and the times his twin had simply crawled into his), the dopey grin when he told a bad joke and the knowing look in Gene's eyes when he couldn't express himself. The way Gene's eyes would automatically find his, holding hands in crowded places, the comfortable silence when they'd sit in front of the fire and read late into the night, the knowing that Gene was in the room next to his, and wouldn't mind if he shared a bed after a nightmare.

"Oh, Naru." Ayako soothed, hands rubbing small circles into his back. "Idiot scientist. How long have you been holding this in?"

He cried harder. He cried for Gene who drowned far from home, for the victims of all the cases he'd been on, for Martin and Luella-missing two sons instead of just the one, his kind and caring father who didn't care if he broke glasses, his mother who tried to understand, his baby sister and the way she tried to say his name, all of them. All the while Matsuzaki stopped rubbing circles on his back and started to card her fingers through his hair, murmuring softly. It was nice. No one had done this since…_tou-chan._

He was tired.

He closed his eyes.

When he opened them, he was lying on a couch in the conference room they had set up as base, a blanket tucked around him and a pillow under his head. Over by the monitors, Lin and Matsuzaki were talking in hushed voices. Lin looked stressed, and worried (there was a crease in his brow and his fingers were tapping anxiously), while Matsuzaki was gesturing, pointing at a few monitors. She was dressed for an exorcism, but Oliver had the feeling that she'd already completed it. Lin must have carried him back to base, then.

It didn't matter that his brain worked differently. He wasn't alone. Not anymore.

.

.

When Mai told him that she loved him, he was sitting by her hospital bed, clutching her hand like a lifeline. He had come so close to losing her on their last case (he had been careless, it wouldn't happen again), but the moment she said those three words, his brain stuttered to a halt. He couldn't say it back.

_He couldn't say it back._

He knew that what he felt for Mai was complex and breath-taking and _terrifying_, and that it was _permanent_, but…

"My brain works differently than yours." He managed to get out, frustrated that he couldn't reply (_why can't you just be normal?_ The orphanage matron screamed at him), and Mai smiled at him, squeezing his hand with a weak grip. Her pulse was fluttery, and Oliver hated it. Hated himself for not closing the case sooner, before she got hurt, for not being able to _tell Mai that he…_

"Naru." She reached out with her other hand, brushing his cheek, and he stared at her, eyes wide. His grip tightened. "I know."

"How?" He managed to get out. Mai smiled at him, and it stole his breath. So did the gentle kiss she placed on his lips, and…_oh._

.

She understood.

.

.

* * *

.

**There we go, all done. Leave us a review! Let us know what you think (and be honest).**

**Ja ne!**

**Vicky and Siofra**


End file.
